A Couple of Cupcakes
by owlcroft
Summary: The aunts, Doctor Brent, and mulberry tea: a recipe for murder?


Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me (except Doctor Brent, and he is mine, Mine, **Mine**) and I make no profit whatsoever from them.

A/N: As always, many thanks to the long-suffering people who are kind enough to wade through pages of dreck, and who manage to do it with grace and kindness. Betas are a long-suffering lot.

Special thanks are due to L.M. Lewis for plot details. Generous _and_ long-suffering.

A COUPLE OF CUPCAKES

by

Owlcroft

Judge Hardcastle looked at his watch. He fidgeted and grumbled. He rocked back and forth on his heels and glanced at his watch again. Finally, his companion spoke.

"They'll be here in a minute, Judge. You know they like to sit in the back of the plane." Mark McCormick craned to see over the heads of the passengers currently disembarking at Gate 23A.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Why they can't sit in the front, or even the _middle_, for cryin' out loud . . ."

"Because they feel safer, that's why. Look, after this, they're my responsibility and you can just run away and play with your files for a week, remember?" McCormick thought back to the excited phone call from the aunts two months ago. He'd been vacuuming the hall when the phone rang, so the judge had answered.

"Well, that's great, Aunt Zora! That's terrific!" Hardcastle had said. "So where--"

There was a pause and then the judge had said "Disneyland? The Disneyland out _here_?" His expression had been one of dismayed incredulity.

Mark had turned off the vacuum and eavesdropped unabashedly after that.

"But, Aunt Zora, you can't--"

There was a long pause before the judge had spoken again.

"Well, sure, but--"

Mark had begun to enjoy himself immensely. It had sounded like his aunts were coming out and that was always fun.

"Yeah, hi, Aunt May. Listen, you know I'd love to--"

McCormick had dropped into the wing chair at the corner of Hardcastle's desk and grinned at him.

"Oh, yeah, I think it's great, but it's a little --"

Mark had put up a hand to hide his grin when the judge grimaced ferociously at him.

"Okay. That's fine. Yeah, you do that. Yeah, I'm real proud of you both. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Bye-bye." Hardcastle had hung up the phone and shouted, "What the hell are you so happy about? Aren't you supposed to be vacuuming the hall?"

McCormick had held up his hands in protest. "Hey, can't a guy take a little break when he learns his favorite aunts are coming to visit?"

The judge had sighed and rubbed his forehead. "You're not gonna believe this. They won a trip to Disneyland in a baking contest. Cupcakes."

McCormick smiled at the remembrance of Hardcastle's tone of voice when he said 'cupcakes'. No one else could've put so much disgust into two syllables. Then he spotted the pair he was looking for.

"Aunt May! Aunt Zora!" He waved enthusiastically.

"Milton! Mark!" They'd seen him and were waving back.

There was a flurry of hugging and back-patting when they met, then the judge suggested they look for the baggage carousel.

"Why, Milton," said Aunt Zora, "you're just ignoring Doctor Brent. You remember him, don't you? Mark, I'm certain _you_ haven't forgotten Doctor Brent."

"No, I haven't," said McCormick cordially. "Nice to see you again, Doctor." He extended a hand.

"Well, it's nice to be seen again." The slender, gray-haired man shook Mark's hand with vigor, then asked, "How are the ribs? Can you do this without pain?" He extended his right arm straight up.

Mark extended his arm and said, "You bet."

"Can you do this?" The doctor held his arm out at a ninety-degree angle.

"Yep," said Mark and did the same.

"Can you quack like a duck?" was the next question.

McCormick laughed and said, "Yes, but I try not to in airports."

Doctor Brent turned to the judge and put out a hand. "Just trying to see how well trained he was. You know, Zora and May talk about you all the time. Try to get 'em to stop, will you? Thanks."

He faced the aunts and continued, "I'll give you a call Saturday night to set up the pick-up. Now you remember the password?"

They leaned toward the doctor and whispered in unison, "Swordfish."

"Right. Now, where's the limo guy?" Doctor Brent peered around the fringes of the crowd and suddenly shouted, "Yoicks, my good man. You have found me." With a wave, he headed for a chauffeur holding up a sign reading "Dr. E. M. Brent".

The judge watched him lead the chauffeur towards the escalator and said irritatedly, "That guy is a real piece of work." He turned back to the aunts to ask, "What's he doing here, anyway, and why's he got a limo picking him up?"

McCormick was gently herding his little group toward the baggage claim area.

May said, "Oh, he's got a conference here. That's why we picked this week to come out, Milton." She grabbed at Mark's sleeve as the crowd threatened to separate them.

"We thought it would be nice to have a gentleman along," Zora continued. "Especially since we had to change planes in Houston."

"A conference, huh?" Mark stationed the aunts and the judge to one side of the baggage area. "You just wait here and I'll get your suitcases."

"A conference," repeated Hardcastle. "I think I read about that. It's some kind of specialists all getting together about some new kind of treatment or therapy or something."

"Yes," said May, "And Doctor Brent's giving a speech."

The judge snorted. "Well, he's sure good at not letting anybody else talk."

ooooo

Once Mark had the rental car on the freeway to Malibu, he spoke over his shoulder to the aunts, "Is there any place you want to stop on the way home?"

"No, thank you, dear." May looked at her sister for corroboration. "We'll just rest up a bit today so we'll be full of energy for tomorrow."

Zora nodded. "Disneyland! I can't believe Milton never took us there, in all the times we've visited. We're so excited, just like a couple of kids, aren't we, May?"

"Well, the judge still isn't going to take you; _I_ am." McCormick threw a look toward the passenger seat. "See, we made a deal before you got out here. Right after we got your phone call, in fact."

Hardcastle made a harrumphing noise and turned his head slightly toward the back seat. "Now, you know I'm not a fan of those amusement park things and there's a lot of research I have to do on a case coming up in court because I may be called to testify, so we thought it would be a good idea for McCormick to, uh . . . escort you while you're here."

The aunts looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

"Hey, I volunteered!" Mark said happily. "In fact, I'm going to be your tour guide all week. We'll go to the zoo, the parks, the observatory, the beach, wherever you want to go. Or Disneyland every day! It's gonna be great!"

"Well, thank you, Mark." Zora lifted her chin and spoke loudly. "It's nice to know _someone_ is glad we're here."

May nodded vigorously. "And I just _know _we're going to have a wonderful time, too."

Judge Hardcastle sighed deeply. "Now, you know I'm glad you're out here," he said plaintively. "I'm _always _glad to see you--"

"Hey," Mark interrupted. "What recipe did you win with?"

"Banana fudge cupcakes," said May proudly.

"With caramel frosting," added Zora.

"Oooh," McCormick smiled dreamily. "Do you think you could make some while you're here?"

The aunts smiled in return. "We packed our aprons," said Zora.

ooooo

The next day, Judge Hardcastle found himself listening for a sound. Any sound. It was much too quiet without McCormick running in and out, slamming doors and kitchen cabinets, playing his so-called music too loud. But McCormick was at Disneyland with the aunts. Good thing, too. Buncha kids. Oh, well, at least he could get some work done in peace for a change.

He worked in peace for another twenty minutes, then put on the radio to keep him company.

After lunch (left-over meatloaf between two slices of bread), he sat on the patio with coffee and paperwork. At least the breeze made a little noise. And it was so quiet, he could hear the breakers on the beach. Back to work!

Where was that transistor radio that used to be on the poolside table? And maybe a little more coffee with some of those cookies. There. Now he could concentrate.

By four-thirty, Hardcastle was looking at his watch every ten minutes. At five, he gave up pretending to work and went to the kitchen. Wouldn't hurt to get things ready to fix for dinner. He took an onion out of the pantry and put it on the cutting board. Then he put a knife next to it. What else? Oh, the mushrooms. He took a can of mushrooms down from the cabinet next to the window. Well, that was pretty much it. The aunts had washed the potatoes that morning and the salad was in the fridge. The peas were frozen, so they couldn't be done ahead of time. There was nothing left he could do.

He gave a relieved sigh when he heard the rental car door slam at the front of the house.

The judge strolled out of the kitchen to the hallway in time to see his aunts come in the front door laughing and wearing enormous straw hats.

"Oh, Milton, you should've come with us!" May was carrying a tote bag crammed to the top with souvenirs. "We had _such_ fun!"

Zora flapped a hand at him, then clutched at her hat. "We went on the most incredible rides, Milton. And we didn't even see the whole place. We're going back again the day after tomorrow."

"Yeah, Judge," grinned a straw-hatted McCormick. "It was great! You oughta come with us next time."

"Oh, I don't think . . ." Hardcastle shrugged nonchalantly. "'Course I did get a lot more done today than usual. Since there was nobody distracting me and breaking my concentration." He took May's tote bag and peeked inside. "But it looks like you didn't leave any souvenirs for anybody else."

"Oh, that's just one bag, dear." Zora was taking her camera out of her capacious purse. "The rest are still in the car. Now, didn't somebody say something about margaritas?"

ooooo

The next day, the judge was prepared. He saw the trio off to the Museum of Natural History right after breakfast, got himself another cup of coffee, took it to the den, turned on the radio, and set to work.

By noon, he was thoroughly bored with the Sandusky case and ready for lunch. After sandwiches and more coffee, he decided to do a little yard work. He raked eucalyptus leaves until he'd worked up a sweat, then started to yell for McCormick to bring him a beer. Grumbling under his breath, he trudged to the kitchen, got himself a beer, and wondered where his aunts and McCormick were. _Bet they're having fun. Having lunch somewhere, fooling around while I'm stuck here working!_

He muttered under his breath into the den, where the file on his desk sat ready for review. Somehow, he just didn't feel like digging into it right then.

As he tried to decide what to do next, he heard the sound of a car in the driveway. Hustling to his desk, he opened the file, scattered a few papers around and picked up a pencil.

"Milton! We're ba-ack!" lilted Aunt Zora.

The judge heard May say something to McCormick, then both aunts started up the staircase.

"Hey, Judge! You still working on that Sandusky file?" McCormick carried Aunt May's purse into the den and set it on the couch. "You shoulda gone with us; the dinosaurs in the museum were really something."

"Yeah, well," said Hardcastle, leaning back and stretching, "I've been there before. It's okay, I guess. Where'd ya take 'em for lunch?"

Mark laughed, and sat down. "Oh, man! You _really_ should've gone to lunch with us. They wanted to go to Barney's Beanery because they've heard you talk about it. Okay, we went to Barney's Beanery." He shook his head and said sorrowfully, "Judge, they may never let you in there again. Aunt Zora saw a woman put some kind of powder in her husband's coffee when he wasn't looking and she screamed that he was being poisoned! The manager came running over and the woman got all upset and her husband was so confused! It was great!" He laughed some more.

Hardcastle had his head in his hands. "Oh, no," he groaned. "I knew it. How'd you get out of there?"

"We got everybody calmed down and found the packet the powder was in; it was a sugar substitute she carries in her purse for him." Mark grinned. "We all apologized and mentioned your name four or five times and just sorta edged out the door." He chuckled again. "The aunts were so embarrassed, but they kept saying how it was just an honest mistake and the woman looked like the criminal type."

"The criminal type; oh, boy." The judge looked up in dismay. "What can I do? I'll have to change my name."

Mark was still giggling faintly when May and Zora came back downstairs to display the clothes they'd bought for the next day's excursion to Disneyland.

May was smart in a tan blouse with dark brown slacks; Zora looked stylish in a white blouse and navy pants.

"Look, Milton! Trousers!" said Aunt May.

Zora nodded excitedly. "Now we can go on all those rides where we thought our skirts might, you know . . ." She wiggled a hand at her knees. "Milton, are you sure you won't come with us tomorrow?"

"Well," the judge squinted at McCormick, then back at his aunts. "I'll think about it," he said grudgingly.

ooooo

By lunch time the next day (at the River Belle Terrace in Frontierland), all four had been on the African adventure ride, the submarines, the flume ride (the aunts' favorite so far), and the Mad Hatter's Tea Party (Mark's favorite).

Zora finished her chicken salad and sipped at her iced tea. "I wonder, Milton, if you or Mark could drive us to the Hilton this evening. Doctor Brent's giving his speech tomorrow, or presenting his paper, or whatever it is he's doing and we'd like to wish him luck on it."

"If it's not too much bother?" May looked pleadingly at the judge, then at Mark.

McCormick shook his head and said, "No bother. We can stop by on the way home, if you want." He glanced at the judge for confirmation.

Hardcastle shrugged and nodded.

"Thank you, dear." May sighed with contentment and glanced around. "Oh, my, this is just so much fun. Now, Milton, aren't you glad you came with us today?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's kinda fun. Yeah."

"Don't strain yourself, Hardcastle." Mark took another spoonful of clam chowder. "You can always go wait for us by that "Small World" place and go nuts listening to that _song_."

"That really is annoying, isn't it?" the judge asked seriously. He leaned back and signalled for the check. "Why do they do that to people? Do they _want _a buncha crazy people running around singing that?"

"The best thing to do is to sing something else," said Zora firmly. She looked May. "Remember when we both had that 'Muskrat Love' song stuck in our heads?"

May laughed. "Wasn't that atrocious? We ended up singing 'Mississippi Mud' in the check-out line of the grocery store."

Naturally, on the way past "It's a Small World", the sisters started singing. "When the sun goes down and the tide rolls out--" clap, clap, "People gather 'round and shout--" a little dance step, "Hey, hey, Uncle Dud! It's a treat to beat your feet on the Mississippi mud!"

"Come on, Mark!" said May. "It's self-defense! 'What a dance they do, Glory how I'm tellin' you!'"

The happy trio sang all the way to the exit, where people gave them a round of applause, assuming they were part of the strolling characters of the park. The judge followed a good ways behind, hands in his pockets, whistling and looking anywhere but at his friend and relatives.

ooooo

"Yes, Doctor Brent's in Room 418. Would you like me to call and see if he's in?" The Hilton desk clerk raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"Yes, thank you." Zora tapped her sister on the shoulder to get her attention. "He's going to see if Doctor Brent's in."

"Oh, good. Zora, look at that chandelier. How in the world do they keep it polished?"

The clerk hung up the phone and beamed at them. "Yes, he's in and says he'd be delighted to have company."

They took the elevator to the fourth floor, with the judge trying hard to be patient and good-tempered.

McCormick noticed his efforts and snickered.

As they exited the elevator, they heard what sounded like a shot. McCormick looked at the judge, who told him, "Go!"

Mark tore down the hallway in the direction of the sound, while Hardcastle urged his aunts back into the elevator.

"Certainly not!" May was outraged. "Mark could be in danger. Come on, Zora!"

While the judge was arguing with his aunts, McCormick found an open door and peered around the frame.

Inside was a man lying supine in a pool of blood, with Doctor Brent bending over him. Brent looked up, saw Mark and threw him a pistol.

"Here, take this! That way!" The doctor pointed to the end of the hall with the emergency exit.

As McCormick headed off with the pistol, Doctor Brent shook his head and said under his breath, "That's _too_ well-trained."

May and Zora trotted down the hallway with the judge in tow. As they approached the open doorway, he grabbed them by the elbow and forced himself in front of them.

Doctor Brent stuck his head around the frame and said, "You might want to go after your friend. He's chasing the bad guy. Ladies, if I could have your assistance here, please?"

ooooo

By the time McCormick reached the bottom of the stairs, he was nearly certain whoever he'd been chasing had escaped.

He paused, breathing hard, and took stock of his location. It was a lower level of the parking garage. Too many places to hide, if the suspect was there at all.

"Freeze! Drop the weapon!"

Mark dropped the weapon and froze.

Behind him, two hotel security guards advanced toward him cautiously.

"Don't move," said one as the other approached to pick up the pistol Mark had dropped.

Behind them, a breathless retired judge came to a halt.

"Hold it." He breathed deeply and continued, "He's not the one you're looking for."

"And who the hell are we looking for, and who the hell are you?" The one who had picked up the pistol trained his automatic on the judge. "Just get over here next to this guy. Call the boss to get the cops, Ron."

"Look, there's a guy been shot on the fourth floor. You need to call for an ambulance. I'm Judge Milton Hardcastle and this is Mark McCormick. He works for me, okay? Now, you _oughta_ be looking for the guy who shot the man on the fourth floor, not waving guns at_ us_!"

"Yeah, is that so?" sneered Ron.

"Nobody move," said an icy voice of authority from behind the guards. "Throw your guns over here, carefully. Now." The guards obeyed, looking at each other in dismay.

Doctor Brent stepped over the guns on the floor. "Very good. Everyone just maintain your position until the police arrive. They have been notified."

ooooo

Nearly five hours later, Doctor Brent rejoined the aunts, the judge, and McCormick.

"Nice place," said the doctor, looking at the sparsely furnished waiting room. "Come here often?"

Aunt May and Aunt Zora fussed over him for a bit as he polished his bifocals.

"Now, now, ladies. Allow me to prescribe for you both." He put his glasses back on and looked at Hardcastle and McCormick. "And for you gentlemen, as well. Food, my good people. Food is what we all need and my hotel happens to contain an eating establishment. Let's go there."

Without waiting for a response, he strode out the door.

"They suspected me, you know," he said over his shoulder. "Briefly."

"Oh, yeah?" The judge caught up with him and gestured to the parking lot. "How come they don't still suspect you?"

"Aside from my angelic appearance, my purity of heart and my staunch integrity, I had no gunshot residue on my hands and no motive. Add to all that my naming the actual killer and offering myself as bait to trap him . . .well, the police are not all entirely devoid of intelligence." He stopped next to the car Mark had rented for the aunts. "Dear ladies, after you."

He helped Zora into the back seat, then circled around to the other side.

The judge eyed Brent over the roof of the car. "So how did you explain that you were found bending over the body, in possession of what I assume was the murder weapon?"

The doctor smiled at him. "Since my room was next door, I was first on the scene. As for the weapon, the police are reasonably confident that the murderer dropped it there so it wouldn't be found on him if he were caught." He opened the car door and cocked his head slightly. "I was interviewed by a policeman of some rank, named Giles, I believe. He was, in fact, quite affable and fairly keen of wit. I like that in a man. To the Hilton, Mr. McCormick. Dinner is on me!"

Hardcastle put an arm over the seatback to face the doctor and his aunts. "Yeah, Giles and I go way back. You told him who killed that guy?"

"I did. Unfortunately, I was not an eyewitness. But nobody's perfect."

"But, Doctor," Zora said anxiously, "You said you were going to be bait for the killer?"

He patted her hand comfortingly. "Just a turn of phrase. 'Target' might have been more appropriate. But with your delightful nephew and his accomplice helping out, there should be nothing at all to concern anyone." He turned back to the delightful nephew, who was grimacing ferociously. "I've never been to Los Angeles before. Can someone point out a landmark or interesting structure that I can forget about as soon as I'm home?"

McCormick, still grinning at being titled an accomplice, drove to the Hilton as fast as he could without attracting attention.

ooooo

"Now," said Doctor Brent, "We need a 'pow-wow'." He herded the group through the lobby and toward the restaurant. "A table in the corner, I think. We'll plot and plan to catch our man."

Hardcastle sighed and followed his aunts to the corner table as the doctor got a waiter's attention and asked for menus all around.

"Look, I know you think you got this all figured out." He pulled out a chair for Aunt Zora, then seated himself. "And maybe you're used to being in charge. But this is police business--"

"Exactly!" Doctor Brent leaned over toward the judge conspiratorially. "That Giles fellow said you were experienced in this sort of 'police business'. That you could do things that were a little, shall we say, _sub rosa_, that the police themselves would be unable to do?" He leaned back. "In short, sonny, he said you'd help me trap this guy and bring him in. Capeesh?"

The judge closed his eyes momentarily. "You're telling me Giles wants us to help you trap the killer?"

"He mentioned you have some experience in this situation," said Brent placidly. "Ah, menus. Order first, then conspire."

After the waiter had taken their food order, McCormick cleared his throat meaningfully. "Doctor Brent, Lieutenant Giles actually told you to come to us and set up a trap for a murderer?"

"Oh, not in so many words. It was all done with a wink and a nod and a finger to the side of the nose. All implication. I believe he expected you to volunteer in any case." His bifocals glittered in the lights as he turned to the judge. "Have I possibly misunderstood? Do you not want to help me catch the murderer?"

"Oh,_ that _couldn't be possible, _could_ it?" Hardcastle said sarcastically. "I can't believe _you_ could misunderstand something."

"_Milton_," said the aunts.

The doctor waved a hand benignly. He leaned back and looked at the judge seriously. "Let me ask you something, Judge Hardcastle. Do you have any idea what it's like to be the most intelligent student in your class? To be the one held up as a model for all the others? To be the one with the bright future so confidently forecast?" He looked at the judge consideringly. "_Do_ you know what that's like? No, of course you don't, and neither do I. But that's beside the point."

Mark hastily put his napkin in front of his face and tried to sound like he was coughing.

Brent continued, "The point is, Mr. Giles--"

"Lieutenant," muttered Hardcastle.

"Gesundheit," replied the doctor. "Mr. Giles seemed to confidently expect you would help capture Simon Prescott's murderer. If he was wrong, run along, sonny, and we'll do it without you. If you want in, that's fine. Think about it while I explain what's going on."

He turned to McCormick. "Do you know what a lipid is?"

Mark shook his head. "Don't look at me. I had nothing to do with it."

The doctor faced the aunts. "Do you know what a lipid is?"

Zora looked at May, who said timidly, "Is it something in your blood?"

"Five points to the lady in brown!" Doctor Brent tugged on his ear. "But that's not a comprehensive explanation, so I'll talk in non-medico language for a while." He took a sip of water, then went on. "I went to medical school with Simon; we were friendly, but not really friends. He went on to a fine career in research, while I went into general practice. We met again about ten years at a conference in New York. Mighty strange place, New York. We were talking about his research and I mentioned that I'd done a little homework on mulberry tea. If we leave lipid oxidation out of the conversation--"

"More like a monologue," the judge said _sotto voce_.

"You ought to see a doctor about that cold. Well, to avoid being obscure and technical, I told him I thought it might be worthwhile investigating mulberry tea with regard to the treatment of diabetes. You all learned about the pancreas and insulin in biology class, yes?"

The doctor sighed at the dubious looks he received. "Mulberry tea made some people feel better. There are reasons for that and if you're interested, I'll make you copies of the papers we were presenting here."

Salads had arrived on the table, but Brent pushed his aside. He waved the others to eat and leaned his elbows on the table.

"Simon took my idea and worked on it since then. I helped out with some regional recruiting and information and helped collate some of his data. It was quite fascinating to see how the results changed when the dosage was increased . . . oh, now your eyes are glazing." He looked at his salad, picked up a fork and poked at it gingerly, then put the fork down again. "Well. The results were _very_ encouraging. Then, about two years ago, the results changed. I suspected some error at the time, but Simon assured me they were correct. Six months ago, he returned, by mistake I'm sure, some of my own data with the statistics changed. Changed intentionally. Fudged, I think is the legal term. I went to Chicago immediately to confront him."

"Wait a minute," said Mark. "He was changing the results of the research so it looked like the mulberry tea wasn't working?"

"Give that boy a cigar. He was slanting the results and I wanted to know why. After a little go-'round, he admitted to me he'd accepted a bribe to skew the analytical data: a bribe from Leyland-Thorpe."

"They're a big pharmaceutical company, aren't they?" The judge looked pensive. "I think I see what's going on then. He took the bribe to show the mulberry stuff wouldn't work as well as one of the drugs Leyland-Thorpe markets for the same symptoms, right?"

Brent smiled at him delightedly. "Nice of you to join in, Mr. Hardcastle." Then he gave the irritated judge a slow, deliberate wink.

Zora spoke up. "But, Doctor, why was he killed if he'd taken a bribe? The drug company wouldn't have any reason to want him dead, would they?"

"They would if he gave the money back and told them the deal was off." The doctor shook his head. "He wrestled with his conscience and it won. Then, he got a phone call."

McCormick shot a glance at the judge. "Uh-oh," he said. "Don't tell me. Somebody from Leyland-Thorpe wasn't happy. They threatened him if he didn't go along with the plan to present the phony results, right?"

"Exactly. But I thought Simon's nervousness was over the damage to his reputation if word ever leaked out. He, obviously, was more aware of the dangers of crossing his briber. Poor Simon." Doctor Brent's face tightened suddenly. "All it took was one lunatic with a gun."

Aunt May murmured something commiserating as the waiter brought their entrees.

"Oh, we weren't good friends, Miss Hardcastle. We were far too much alike, both arrogant and irritable." Brent looked with distaste at his red snapper. "But it's a criminal waste of a talent and education that might've saved thousands of lives. What is this? Do they not decapitate fish in California?"

"Look, doctor, we'll help you nail this guy, but if you know his name and what he looks like, it'd help a whole lot." Hardcastle picked up his steak knife and cut into his Porterhouse. "I can talk to the cops again tomorrow and we can set up a time and place--"

"No, no. That's already been done." The doctor was dissecting his snapper with great delicacy. "Mr. Giles has already agreed to my plan and all that remains is to implement it. Mr. McCormick, could you put this on another table? Preferably one that's unoccupied."

"Sure." Mark took the bread plate with the snapper head and put it on a table out of the doctor's sight. "But call me Mark, okay?"

"Thank you, Mark. And you may call me 'Doctor Brent'."

"Great," grinned McCormick. "Thanks, doc."

The doctor looked at the judge's dinner, then said politely, "Judge Hardcastle. I hesitate to tell you this, but I think you should know."

Hardcastle looked at his own plate dubiously. After a few seconds, he asked, "What?"

"There's a lipid on your plate," Brent said calmly and went back to his headless red snapper.

The aunts kept their eyes firmly on their chicken Kiev.

With the judge temporarily speechless, McCormick jumped into the breach. "Okay. You told the cops about the suspect. They know about the bribe and the research and they want us to help you catch the guy. How?"

"I've always wanted to say this," beamed Doctor Brent. He leaned forward, looked around the table and whispered, "Now, here's my plan."

He leaned back, pushed at his glasses to seat them securely, and continued. "I've already spoken to the conference coordinator and he's agreed to allow me to present Simon's research. My own paper on the history, folklore and cultivation of mulberries was to follow it, so I'll simply combine the two and present the entire piece as a representative of Simon's foundation."

"Making yourself a new target for the guy." Hardcastle was carefully removing the "lipids" from his steak. "So, Giles wants us to be your bodyguards, is that it? What about the cops being in on this?" He held up a bite of Porterhouse and pointed it at the doctor. "Every citizen in good standing has the right to ask for police protection, ya know. And in a case like this--"

"In a case like this," Brent interrupted, "the police will be watching me carefully, even as they are doing at this moment."

The other four at the table surreptitiously tried to play "spot the cop", but failed.

"Once I told them the name of the person Simon had named as his briber, they managed to find an excellent photo of him. I have copies in my pocket so you can recognize him if he pulls a gun on you. They will also be delivering a bullet-proof vest to my room at any moment, and have assured me they will be diligent in their efforts to protect me until the research is delivered." Brent carefully piled broccoli under the remains of his fish and then mashed the entire mound into a pink pancake. "Your part in this is to keep me company. The announcement that I'm substituting for Simon will be made tomorrow morning at the beginning of the presentations. That will give Allan Pierson, Leyland-Thorpe's Vice President of Research and Funding, exactly three hours to purchase another weapon and kill me."

"Yeah, but why us?" The judge was trying not to look at the doctor's plate. "Why not more cops?"

"Apparently you don't look like police." The doctor smiled. "That was one important factor. We need Pierson to either make an attempt on my life or to incriminate himself verbally in the presence of a trustworthy witness. A witness licensed to carry a hidden weapon and knows how to use it effectively. The other reason was that I asked for you."

"You asked for us? To be your bodyguards?" Mark shook his head. "You've been listening to the aunts, haven't you? Look, that's a real compliment, I guess, but we're not professionals here."

"Tut, my boy. And pish." Brent looked around for the waiter. "The police will probably make the actual capture. I just wanted someone congenial to keep me company while I wait to be shot. Yes, dessert menus, please."

Zora and May looked at each other anxiously.

"We get to help, don't we?" said Aunt Zora pleadingly.

"Certainly, Mrs.Harrison. You and Miss Hardcastle are to be our spotters in the lobby." Brent smiled around the table as dessert menus were handed around. "Now, let's discuss details."

ooooo

It took some doing, but the judge and McCormick finally got the aunts back to Gull's Way.

"I don't like it, Milton. We don't know what could happen overnight." May had been fretting ever since leaving the hotel.

Zora agreed. "She's right. That Allan Pierson could be anywhere and if he's already murdered one man, why, he won't think twice about killing poor Doctor Brent."

"Aw, come on, Aunt Zora, Aunt May." The judge made little shooing motions to get them up the stairs, but it didn't work. He admitted temporary defeat. "You were there. That Pierson guy doesn't know about Brent. He thinks Prescott was the only one that knew anything about that research."

May shook her head emphatically. "That's all supposition and you know it. For all we know, Prescott told Pierson he had someone else working with him or . . ." She broke off suddenly and clutched at the judge's arm. "Oh, dear! Oh, Milton! He might have seen Doctor Brent's name on some of the research!"

"No, he didn't." Hardcastle's tone was patient, but firm. "Now, we know that, because if he _had_, he'd have bribed Brent, too. And in the six months since Prescott gave the money back, Brent made sure nobody knew he was involved in any way. He wasn't listed on any of the material because he wanted all the credit to go to Prescott's research team and besides that, there are cops all over the place keeping an eye out. Okay?" He started shooing again. "We'll take over tomorrow and everything'll be okay until then."

"That sounds like you expect everything to _stop _being okay once we get there," muttered McCormick.

"Hush! Now night, tight, bedbugs bite. G'night!" Hardcastle pulled Mark into the den as the aunts ascended the stairs.

"Zora, you don't think the doctor got that fish just because we had chicken, do you?"

"Oh, dear! You mean so we would all have white wine? Oh, I hope not."

The judge sighed as their voices faded upstairs. "There. Now they have something else they can worry about they'll be happy."

"Judge, are you really sure about this plan? I mean, it looks solid enough, but there's a whole lot that can go wrong." Mark plopped into the wing chair at the end of the desk. "We're dealing with amateurs here, on both sides. I don't like it."

Hardcastle sat at his desk and rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "Well, I don't like it either, but it's hard to see how else we could do it. The conference ends day after tomorrow, so Pierson would be leaving for Illinois and the arrest would have to be made on motive and opportunity alone and you _know _how the D.A. loves _that_. Nope." He sank back in his chair. "This looks like the best way if you got a willing volunteer and good back-up."

"It's still dangerous," said McCormick soberly.

"Yep. Which is why we're going to be really careful."

ooooo

At exactly ten A.M., Hardcastle knocked on the door of Room 418. The aunts were stationed in the lobby with a photograph of Allan Pierson. Their orders were to phone up immediately if they spotted him and to _stay in the lobby_.

McCormick was dressed in a white jacket and stationed in an alcove down the hall. "Room service?" he'd objected. "Why can't I sit in the room with Doctor Brent and _you_ be room service?"

"Because you're on parole, that's why," the judge had growled. "You're not allowed to carry a gun and I am. Now shut up and put on that jacket."

Doctor Brent opened the door promptly and beckoned Hardcastle into the room. "C'mon in," he said out of the side of his mouth, as he peered suspiciously down the hall. "But watch your step. The joint is crawlin' with cops."

Judge Hardcastle sighed in a long-suffering manner. "Have you actually recognized any cops here?"

"Well," the doctor thought a moment, then said judiciously, "I'm fairly sure it was a policeman who brought that." He pointed to a bullet-proof vest draped across the bed. "If it wasn't, we have a real problem."

"Ho, ho. Ya know, you should be wearing that. We have no idea if Pierson's gonna come here to the room or take a shot at you in the hall or what."

Brent smiled self-deprecatingly. "I was rather hoping you'd verify which is the front. I've had very little experience with this sort of attire."

"Oh." The judge put the tape recorder he'd been carrying on the coffee table. "Well, here, it goes this way. Take off your jacket and shirt."

Once the vest was in place and the doctor had sauntered around the room in it for a few minutes, he put his shirt back on and waved a hand at the judge. "My thanks, Judge Hardcastle. You have a career opportunity if valets ever come back into fashion. Please, sit."

Hardcastle looked around at the chairs available and made a face. He sat on the couch. "Okay. You heard anything, is there anything we ought to know about, have there been any snags?"

"Not that I know of. I was pleased to hear from the conference coordinator that my presentation is greatly anticipated." Brent pulled out the chair at the small desk and sat. "Can I offer you some coffee or other refreshment? We have almost three hours to kill." He looked surprised. "Oh, _what _a pun. I beg your pardon. Unless you thought it was funny, in which case, I share your sense of humor." He grinned.

"You know," said the judge slowly, "I can understand humor and eccentricity as a defense mechanism. It's not my style, but I guess it works for some people. But I think you tend to overdo it a little." He noticed the doctor was watching him seriously. "And why you want to pick on me, I got no idea, but if it floats your boat, then hey. It's not gonna bother me."

Doctor Brent sat for a few seconds, then said, "I always wanted to be a small town doctor. All my life. Just a general practitioner, no specialty. Just a plain country doctor, in my home town." He smiled at the judge. "I love it. I wouldn't trade it for anything you could offer."

"Are you trying to tell me something here?" said the judge suspiciously.

"In a roundabout way, yes." Brent pulled out the drawer of the desk. "You play chess?" he asked as he took a box from the drawer.

Hardcastle scratched his head and shrugged. "I used to fool around with it, years ago. I'm not real good."

"Let's see how rusty you are." The doctor set out a chess board and pieces on the coffee table, offering his guest white, which meant the judge would have the first move.

"I remember you said something about having to deal with folks dying and how you try to cope with it by being a little off-the-wall." Hardcastle set up the white pieces on his side of the board.

"That's not the half of it, sonny boy." Brent put an elbow on the desk and rested his chin on it. "You ever hear that a physician shouldn't treat any person they have any feelings for? You know why?"

"Well, I guess because if something goes wrong with someone they're close to, they'll blame themselves for it, maybe unnecessarily." The judge looked up to see if he was right.

"That's part of it. Also, because if something goes wrong with someone you _dislike_ you can be blamed for it. Your move."

"So," Hardcastle edged out a pawn one space, "You're saying in a small town you know everybody, so it's hard to treat them because you either like or dislike them."

The doctor responded with a pawn of his own. "Partly. In a small town you not only _know _everyone, you know their families, their histories, their pets' names, their favorite flavor of ice cream. You can't avoid developing _some_ feelings about people you know so well. I try not to like or dislike anyone to any great extent, but there are people, your aunts come to mind, who make that difficult or impossible." He looked at the judge, who had moved another pawn. "Most folks I can keep at a distance fairly easily. A few caustic comments, an inappropriate joke, no problem." He nudged another pawn a space.

"Wait a minute." Hardcastle took his attention from the board to look at his opponent. "You're saying you push people away; that you keep them from getting too close, so you can treat them. So it's just a habit now? 'Cause you're not _my _doctor."

Brent laughed softly. "No, it's not a habit. It's a way of life. I decided a long time ago that – no, not the bishop, think about the knight, instead – that I would have a few friends, good ones, that would seek medical care somewhere else. I don't know if you realize that your aunts visit the doctor in Clarence or specialists in Little Rock when necessary." He pulled gently at an ear. "But, for the most part, I am safely armored in my eccentricity. It's not a good way to live for most people, I will grant you that. But for me to live my dream, it's a necessity. I do not repine."

The judge watched him move a knight of his own. "So, why do I get the feeling I'm sort of a special target for you?"

"Do you remember I told you your aunts talk about you all the time?"

The judge nodded and reached out a hand to a bishop, then pulled it back. "Yeah, you said that in the airport."

"They brag about your career, about your intelligence, your dedication to justice. On the flight out here, they also mentioned your loneliness after your family losses. And how you seem to have found the strength or courage to climb out of that particular suit of armor."

Hardcastle scowled. "They seem to have been flapping their gums about me a little too much. I might have to speak to them about that."

"They're incredibly proud of you." The doctor's tone was gentle. "What more natural than that they should share that pride with others? And besides, I already knew you; I've seen you in my mirror on occasion. Because we're two of a kind, aren't we? We're gruff, rough, tough guys who feel an abiding need to do a particular job, regardless of the cost to ourselves. Do you disagree?"

Hardcastle tentatively put a finger on one of his bishops. "No, I guess I agree with that. But couldn't you just swap fish stories with me or something?"

Brent nodded at the bishop and Hardcastle moved it.

"I could, but I think I've forgotten how to make a friendly approach." His eyes glinted a bit behind the bifocals. "Couldn't you just throw a caustic comment back at me?"

ooooo

There was a knock on the door, then another, then two in rapid succession.

"That's McCormick," said the judge. "It's time to go downstairs."

Doctor Brent stood and stretched as well as he could manage. "You just need to play more often. Your memory's good enough and you understand the strategy. Maybe tonight after the conference dinner, we could try again."

Hardcastle grabbed the tape recorder and blocked Brent on his way to the door. "Listen. Since he didn't show up here, he's out there somewhere waiting for you. So, keep to the script, okay? I don't want to have to explain to Zora and May that something went wrong. Got it?"

The doctor saluted smartly and answered, "Sir, Judge Hardcastle, sir!"

"Smartass," muttered the judge. "Just you remember the plan."

"_My_ memory is also quite good, as you may noticed. I could recount to you every move in all five games. Five games out of five." He smiled complacently. "But Pierson may have gone back to Chicago last night. Or he may have been so upset by his own maleficent actions that he fled in panic. Or he may have stepped in front of a bus."

"Or he might be waiting for you in the elevator." Hardcastle opened the door and smiled involuntarily at Room Service.

Brent brushed past him saying, "Let's go find out." He smiled at McCormick and told him, "Congratulations. Maybe you can work your way up to doorman."

Mark grinned at him and led the way down the hall to the elevator bank where he pushed the 'down' button. Two burly men in nondescript suits joined him, Doctor Brent, and Hardcastle as they waited for the elevator.

When it arrived, one of the two men stepped in quickly, then gave a slight nod to the rest of the group.

"Cloak and dagger stuff," murmured the doctor as he entered the elevator. "What fun."

As the elevator stopped at the ground floor, Brent cast a look at his entourage. "I wonder if there isn't a slight flaw in our plan," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps, if I were a more accessible target . . .?"

"Stick to the plan, doc," whispered McCormick. "We're already taking a chance that he'll shoot you in the head."

"I thank you for that thought, Mark. It heartens me no end." Brent marched out into the lobby.

Halfway across the doctor spotted the aunts, watching nervously. He smiled at them and nodded in a stately fashion. As he neared the double doors to the ballroom/conference area, he paused to remove and polish his glasses. The judge was standing right behind him, McCormick to his left side. The two nondescript men were slightly in front of the doctor.

As Doctor Brent replaced his glasses, he cast one more look back at the aunts. May and Zora were sidling toward the entrance to the street, making faces at him and jerking their heads toward the door meaningfully.

Brent twisted his head to peer past the judge and saw that Pierson had just entered the lobby holding a newspaper. The doctor shouted "Aha!" and pointed at him. Pierson dropped the newspaper, fired a shot, turned and raced for the door.

McCormick grabbed the doctor as he fell to one side, Hardcastle roared, "That's him!" and ten other nondescript men surged toward a frantic Pierson. Before they could reach him, he'd been smacked solidly in the jaw by Zora's purse and tripped by May's out-thrust ankle.

"Be sure you read him his rights off the card," said Zora calmly.

May added, "We don't want _this _one thrown out of court."

Mark bent over Doctor Brent and inspected the blood welling from the hole in his shirt.

Brent looked up at him and said, "You're supposed to yell 'Is there a doctor in the house?'." He looked at his arm, checked the flow of blood, and added, "To my trained medical eye, that looks like a bullet wound."

ooooo

Two days later, May and Zora tenderly escorted Doctor Brent into the main house at Gull's Way, being extremely careful not to jostle his left arm in its natty gray sling.

"Milton, be a dear and pay for the cab," said Aunt May.

McCormick snickered and hurriedly went to take a plastic shopping bag from Aunt Zora.

"Nonsense!" The doctor was outraged. "It's my cab and _I'll_ pay for it." He leaned close to Mark and whispered, "I'm quite disgustingly wealthy, you know."

Mark whispered back, "That's okay. The judge is pretty disgusting himself."

They all went first to the kitchen, where one of the bottles of champagne in the plastic bag was placed in the refrigerator, and then Aunt Zora saw that the patient was comfortably settled on the patio next to the pool while McCormick collected five champagne flutes.

"Lovely weather for the time of year," the doctor said, beaming. "Or is it? I really don't know."

Hardcastle came out with Aunt May, both bearing plates of cupcakes. "The two of you," he said sternly to his aunts, "are still in deep trouble, ya know."

"Now, Milton, we did what you said." Aunt May set down her plate, folded her hands and looked at him pleadingly.

Aunt Zora spoke up. "That's right. We _stayed in the lobby_, didn't we, Mark?"

McCormick took the foil off the champagne bottle. "They did stay in the lobby, Judge. You never told them not to catch the bad guy." He grinned at his aunts affectionately.

"I must remember," mused Doctor Brent, "that a right cross is much more effectively administered with a weighty handbag."

Zora smiled deprecatingly.

"And I was just noticing a scuff on my shoe when that man ran past me," explained May hopefully.

"So you never _meant _to trip him." Hardcastle was torn between annoyance and resignation. "You scared the livin' daylights outta me, ya know." He frowned, then sighed. "Just don't do it again, will ya?"

"Don't be silly, Milton, dear. When would we ever be involved in another murder?" May looked at her sister with the slightest hint of a wink.

Zora looked into the plastic bag at her side and said, "Oh, there's still one more bottle here, Doctor. Should it go into the refrigerator, too?"

"No, Mrs. Harrison, that bottle is for your nephew."

Zora held up a bottle of amber liquid. "It says 'Napoleon' on it, so it's brandy, right?"

"Brandy?" The judge reached across the glass-topped table to take the bottle. "For me?"

Doctor Brent looked up at him and smiled. "It's for later, with chess. Think of it as a, hm . . . an attempt at a friendly approach. Also, it's a thank-you gift, for helping me catch Simon's murderer. Although," his smile turned into a grin, "as I recall, your contribution was to shout 'That's him' after I'd been shot."

"Oh, yeah?" The judge grinned back. "And _your _genius move was pointing at a killer and yelling 'Aha'. _That_ was brilliant!"

McCormick poured champagne and distributed glasses.

As Brent accepted his, he looked at the judge and said, "Now, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, I caught a fish."

Finis


End file.
